Moonblood (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #3) (19 page)

But the scent of the unicorn overwhelmed his nostrils, dispersing all thoughts of the others. He growled and backed off the old boards, which creaked under his immense weight. Then he turned and vanished like a bat into the night, continuing his hunt through the vast expanse of the Wood.

The Wood Between spoke not a word. It did not need to. The ground beat a pulse of hostility. Not a hint of evil, but instead a solemn self-regard that insisted on respect. The eyes of the Wood looked down upon Lionheart and were displeased with this stranger.

He sat in the dark, perhaps for centuries, and wondered if another coming upon him in this place someday would see only a puff of smoke, a haze of memory. Everything in him pleaded to rise, to hasten back the way he had come, to find some exit into the world he knew. But a sensible side insisted that there could be no good in wandering in the dark. Eventually daylight would return and he could take stock of his surroundings.

He should have known that dragon-eaten cat would abandon him. Had the creature not constantly trailed after Una back in Oriana Palace? Her devoted pet, surely he must bear him a grudge. All that talk of being sent was nothing more than a cover, a guise wherewith to lead Lionheart deep into this snare of a Wood. And then to leave him.

These thoughts were unfair, and he knew it. When he looked back upon recent events, everything was a muddle. But he knew the cat had warned him to run . . . after that, Lionheart couldn’t say for certain. He vaguely recalled a hand taking hold of him and dragging him along. He might have dreamt that, however. And of the cat, he could not say.

Lionheart shivered, pressing his back against the tree. Every few moments he realized that somehow the tree had retreated behind him, leaving him without support in the darkness. Then he would scoot backward to press against it once more. It trembled softly, perhaps in response to a light breeze above, perhaps in disgust.

A rumbling disturbed the silent ire of the trees, and Lionheart felt the pressure around him recede as the Wood withdrew into itself. The rumbling increased, a cacophonous crashing through underbrush, the screech of rusty wheels, and a low voice singing a tuneless song. The wheels creaked and footsteps stomped in time.

“The king says he,

‘I’ll find the knight

And eat his nose in one great bite.’

O jolly way have we!

“The king says he,

‘I’ll find the fool

And use his backside for a stool.’

O jolly way have we!”

Lionheart was on his feet with Bloodbiter’s Wrath held ready for action long before he saw the light. But when three lanterns appeared, glowing orange and yellow, he found himself too pleased at the prospect of meeting someone—anyone—in that lonesome forest to attempt escape. Instead, he waited.

“The king says he,

‘He thinks he’s wise,

But I will pluck out both his eyes.’

O jolly way have we!”

The lanterns illuminated a cart on two big wheels, taller than it was wide. A hunched little man hauled it, dressed in long robes that might have been red or might have been purple; it was difficult to tell. He wore a lantern around his neck that swung back and forth like a cowbell as he walked. Two others were strung on either side of the tall cart. His head was down and he focused on his own footsteps.

“The king says he,

‘I’ll find the cat

And stitch his tail into my hat.’

O jolly way have we!”

With that verse he came into Lionheart’s clearing and stopped. He looked up without surprise and met Lionheart’s gaze.

“Well met, mortal.”

Lionheart nodded but squinted as he did so. The face before him was . . . strange, at best. At first he thought it very strong and golden, the features of a warrior or a lord. Then, as though a passing wind caught the contours and distorted the shape, the face became fiercely ugly. Rocklike and bloated, with saucer-shaped eyes and a leering mouth.

A face such as Lionheart had seen on only one other person.

“Evening, sir,” Lionheart said.

“Evening, is it?” The stranger looked up at the sky and studied it a moment. “Midnight, more like. The Black Dogs have been this way, have they? Have you no Time?”

“No,” Lionheart said. “I don’t know the time.”

“I didn’t ask if you knew the time,” the stranger said, rolling his eyes. “I asked if you had no Time, but I can see for myself that you haven’t. If you had, why would you sit so long in such vicious Midnight? No matter. I can sell you some if you like!”

The next moment, the stranger pulled a cord and the tall cart unfolded itself with many springs and sproings into a vendor’s stall. Doors swung open, shelves and countertops fell into place, and wares of all sorts assorted themselves with little whirs into pleasing arrangements. Lionheart gasped, and his eyes widened. The stranger laughed and swept his red cap from his head, making an elaborate bow.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Torkom, dealer of magicks and marvels across the worlds. Behold!” He took from one of the displays an orange glass bottle filled with sand. “Fresh sifted, and just the thing for the likes of you, new as you are to the Wood. Time himself filled it with his sands, and see how the many colors are layered so pleasing to the eye? Look!”

The dealer shoved the bottle at Lionheart’s nose. But Lionheart, who had heard more than one story as a boy on his nursemaid’s knee, put his hands behind his back and did not touch the Faerie wares.

Torkom the dealer narrowed his eyes and clucked shrewdly. “Or perhaps you do not mind walking in the steps of the Black Dogs? Better to follow behind them than to run before them, eh?”

Lionheart said nothing. The golden-skinned man replaced the orange bottle, then folded his arms inside the deep sleeves of his robe and fixed Lionheart with a heavy stare.

“Tell me,” he said, “what is a mortal such as yourself doing pathless in Goldstone Wood?”

Not knowing how to answer, Lionheart maintained his silence.

Torkom smiled and revealed two rows of sharp fangs when he did so. But the lanterns flickered, and those fangs became white and even teeth behind well-formed lips. “Perhaps you would take more interest in glimpsing your future? Torkom deals in many things, and he knows the secrets. It is dangerous for a man to walk these lands without a Path . . . you could meet any number of folk who mean you harm! But a little knowledge of what the future holds . . . Ah! That will give you a direction, won’t it?” His voice was honey-sweet. “What do you say? Shall I—”

“I need nothing from you, sir, though I thank you for your kind offers,” Lionheart spoke hastily.

“It’s not polite to interrupt.”

“Forgive me,” said Lionheart. “But as you have already seen, I haven’t any time and must speed on my way.”

“There is no speeding through the Wood Between without a Path,” Torkom said. “You’ll wander lost for generations and be drawn at last to the center, where the Dark Water once lay and where now is only the empty Gold Stone. There, you’ll die.” His smile broadened at those words.

“I am not without a path,” Lionheart said with more conviction than he felt. “I’m on a quest.”

“Are you?” The dealer snorted a laugh. “Do tell, brave hero! What is your quest?”

“I seek a maiden named Rose Red.” Lionheart paused a moment, considering his words, then plunged on. “She looks something like you, sir, in certain lights. But she’s small, hardly would come up as high as your heart. She entered this Wood months ago now . . . or perhaps longer. I don’t understand time in this place, but it was some months in my world. She has not been seen since, and I must find her.”

“She entered the Wood, eh?” said Torkom. “All of her own accord?”

Lionheart opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shifted his gaze away from the dealer.

“You sent her here, did you?”

Again Lionheart did not answer.

“And now you regret—”

“I regret nothing!” Lionheart’s voice cracked like thunder in the darkness, and Torkom’s eyes blazed with merriment. “I regret nothing I have done, for I did all for the greater good! But I would . . . I would find the girl even so.”

“Of course, of course,” Torkom crooned. “Naturally you could not have made a mistake, little human! Your kind never does, does it? No, you are but sadly misunderstood. Torkom understands, though. He understands better than you think!”

Lionheart closed his eyes and ground his teeth, and the dealer’s laugh was like claws down his spine.

“Rose Red was her name, you say?”

“Yes.” He spoke between his teeth.

Torkom clucked to himself, shaking his head. “There are no roses in the Far World or the Near anymore. Not in many years. Except in Arpiar, of course. That’s to where Vahe stole them. They say his garden grows nothing else, and the air is thick with perfume. That’s what they say, but I wouldn’t know. I haven’t visited Arpiar in many a long century now.”

Lionheart took in these words slowly, frowning. “I’m not looking for a rose,” he said at length. “I am searching for Rose Red. A girl, not a flower.”

“It’s all one and the same in Faerie, mortal!” Torkom said with another snorting laugh. “Take my word for it, if it’s a Rose Red you seek and she resembles me in any way—poor dear—Arpiar is the place for you.”

Arpiar. The name was familiar to Lionheart, as was the name Vahe. Arpiar was also called the Land of the Veiled People, and it was the home of goblins. According to stories, Vahe had been a goblin king, hundreds of years ago. But in those stories Lionheart remembered, Vahe had been killed.

Stories were stories, however. In the Wood Between or the Far World, who could say what was true?

“Where can I find Arpiar?” Lionheart asked.

Here Torkom burst into full-fledged laughter. The trees themselves recoiled at the sound, hissing through their leaves. But the dealer went on laughing until his side hurt, then wiped his eyes. “I’ll tell you how to find Arpiar, no worries! Torkom will speed you on your way to your ladylove!”

“She’s not my—”

“But only for a price. I am a businessman, and I give nothing for free, not even directions.”

Lionheart said nothing, but his face clearly showed his indecision. Torkom laughed again, and suddenly the handsome features dropped away completely, and Lionheart stood face-to-face with the most hideous person he had ever seen, more hideous by far even than Rose Red had been, for her expression was never, never so cruel.

“A strand of hair,” the dealer said. “That is my price, mortal, or you can stand here in this patch of Midnight until the Final Water sweeps all away. But give me a strand of hair, and I’ll show you how to step from the Between into the Far World.”

Lionheart knew from the look on the goblin’s face that this bargain was unsafe. But how could he hope to escape the Wood otherwise? The face of the savage young man came back to him with alarming clarity, and the thin voice begging,
“Bear word of me to the Starflower! Tell her I will yet slay a beast!”
That poor, pathetic vapor of memory.

“Make a decision,” Torkom growled. “Make a decision or rot in this place.”

“Very well,” Lionheart said quietly. He plucked a hair from his head and dropped it into the goblin’s waiting hand. Claw-like fingers closed over it, and Torkom smiled once more.

“See you there yonder birch trees?” he purred, putting an arm around Lionheart’s shoulders and turning him to face the direction he wanted. Lionheart tensed but felt the muscle in the goblin’s arm and knew he could not hope to fight. “That is your Path, between those trees,” Torkom said. “They are one of the Crossings into the Far World. You’d never think it to look at them, would you?”

Lionheart blinked. He could not remember seeing the two white birches before now. They gleamed strangely in that dark Midnight, ghostly and skeletal, and he wondered if the Wood had rearranged itself as it wished.

Torkom dropped his arm and gave Lionheart a nudge. “Go on! Our deal is done. Speed on your way to your ladylove, and may Lumé’s light shine on you.”

“She’s not my ladylove,” Lionheart muttered. But he adjusted the pack on his back and strode forward, glad to be rid of Torkom’s presence. The two birch trees beckoned him, more lovely than any other trees he had yet seen in the Wood. He approached them with firm steps, though his heart beat with suspicion and fear.

He passed between the trees and stepped into the Far World.